Sarette's Reve De Mort: And Other Stories Of Not Quite Magical Realism

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In this tongue

Spoken,

I speak with the

Boken.

The tang glistens in

White.

Behold the shadow

At night.

The midnight song sings

Melodies of willow

Trees, swaying long.

Snowflakes falling in

The world above skin.

Flurries flowing.

The window now fogging,

Hides a girl clogging.

She clogs slowly,

To funeral song.

Then falls to dust.@@